


like you've nothing left to prove (and nothing to lose)

by pearwaldorf



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, Great Good Omens Snake-Off, Other, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snondage (Snake Bondage)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: Crowley pauses, and Aziraphale wonders what he’s considering. The flicker of a forked tongue against the curve of his ear makes Aziraphale shiver. “But I am also amenable to doing other things, if you wish."There's a tightening of the coils round his wrists, pulling his arms straighter away from his body, holding him fast; and it sends a spark of lust through his body. It's thrilling to be at Crowley's mercy like this, bound by him, all control ceded.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 219
Collections: The Snake Pit





	like you've nothing left to prove (and nothing to lose)

**Author's Note:**

> The seed of this was planted when I saw [this piece of fanart](https://poizonsss.tumblr.com/post/187449247735/the-principality-and-his-old-serpent-of-eden).
> 
> Thank you to the feral horndogs in the WPH and goevents servers for encouragement and input on the appeal of snondage. Jury's still out on the many amazing(ly terrible) snortmanteaus <3

Aziraphale’s hands are bound behind him, secured with a twist of Crowley’s midsection. It’s not so much constraint as an anchor point, a moor. 

(It began as mutual comfort, a thing they discovered they needed after the notpocalypse brought nightmares in its wake. Somehow the twine of their human corporations felt inadequate, and so Crowley changed into his snake form, draping himself around the angel’s limbs, torso, and neck. They fell asleep together like that, and it was the closest they had come to peace in a long, long time.)

Crowley flicks his tongue out, just to scent the air. Aziraphale wonders what Crowley smells: perhaps the lapsang souchong drunk during tea, smoky and pine-sharp. He had lemon curd on top of pound cake, and while snakes can’t taste sweet things, he hopes Crowley can pick up the fragrant tartness and dense richness. 

Crowley’s head presses against Aziraphale's neck, cool and smooth. Sometimes this is all he wants, the feeling of being held close with the one he loves. Crowley (though he would never admit it) adores a good long cuddle, in both human and snake form, but there is something especially intimate feeling him coil and drape himself over Aziraphale’s limbs, torso, and neck. He must run hot, because in snake form Crowley will bask for ages on and around him. 

There's a tickle of sensation against the back of his earlobe. Crowley nuzzles at him, and Aziraphale smiles. "Hello, darling." 

He presses closer and gives Aziraphale's wrists a companionable squeeze. It's not quite a hug, but as close as he can do in his current position. 

"I am perfectly happy to sit here with you, my dear. You know I love having you near me in whatever form you take.” 

Crowley pauses, and Aziraphale wonders what he’s considering. The flicker of a forked tongue against the curve of his ear makes Aziraphale shiver. “But I am also amenable to doing other things, if you wish."

Aziraphale feels Crowley’s snout rub against the back of his ear. He’s not sure it’s possible for a gesture to feel smug, but if it were, this would be. 

There's a tightening of the coils round his wrists, pulling his arms straighter away from his body, holding him fast; and it sends a spark of lust through his body. It's thrilling to be at Crowley's mercy like this, bound by him, all control ceded. 

He wonders what shifts in the air Crowley's able to perceive, the change in the eddies and currents he can read like maps. It is strange and wondrous, to realise he has been charted like this by someone else: intimately, mapped out in scent and chemical and pheromone. There is an image of Aziraphale that only Crowley can see, inaccessible even to himself, and it is heady, exhilarating, to know he is known.

Crowley’s tail moves along the ridge of a hip leisurely, like Aziraphale can’t feel the flex and tremble of his body where they’re pressed together. It’s sweet how he pretends to be unaffected when Aziraphale shifts at the feel of scales across the crease of his thigh, his legs falling open in invitation. 

At this Crowley hisses softly into his ear. Aziraphale thinks it might be the serpentine equivalent of a laugh, or at least Crowley’s. 

“Don’t sass me, you ridiculous creature. I will remind you that you started this.”

It’s not quite an apology but he does stroke the top of Aziraphale’s thigh, trailing down to his calf. Crowley is happy to lavish attention on every part of him, as he’s said repeatedly, but he seems particularly fascinated with Aziraphale’s calves. They are quite shapely, Aziraphale agrees, but he’s not sure they warrant the focus Crowley gives to them, in this form and out. But he does seem to enjoy it very much, so it’s no difficulty to let him rub up and squeeze against the curves of his legs. 

Eventually, he does move back up to Aziraphale’s thighs, trailing gentle little touches on the insides. It feels good but it's not where Aziraphale needs attention paid. He shifts his hips forward just a bit, and Crowley hisses again, drawing out the sibilants. “Insatiable angel.” 

Despite the punch of need low in his belly, he huffs. “To be insatiable one must have the opportunity to attempt to be sated.” 

Another whisper-light touch, against the juncture of his neck and shoulder this time. “As you like.” 

Crowley runs the tip of his tail against the bottom of Aziraphale’s length. It’s a lazy sort of stroke, with very little friction, but enough to pique his interest. He knows Crowley can feel the increased heat, blood pooling to make him hard. And Aziraphale feels the warmth of his arousal working its way into Crowley’s flesh, the sensation different from start, middle, and now. Still smooth, but more heated in both temperature and enthusiasm, judging from the way Crowley’s touching him now. 

“Please, darling, I need more.” 

“Do you, now?” Now Crowley’s voice is definitely smug. Aziraphale will have to get him back for this in future. 

“Yes.” It’s not that Aziraphale is averse to begging (especially when Crowley is the one doing it), but sometimes, it’s nice to just ask and receive. 

Crowley curls round his stiffened cock, and he feels the shudder through Crowley’s entire body as he’s gripped more firmly, front and back. It’s gratifying to know this pleasure is mutual, that Crowley enjoys giving it as much as Aziraphale is receiving. 

Crowley’s ministrations in this form are nothing like hands, mouths, or other parts of the human corporation. Skin and scales feel nothing alike, and against such sensitive parts of Aziraphale’s anatomy, it is intense, wondrous in both novelty and delectation.

It feels exquisite, Crowley wrapped around him, but he needs something more. 

“Darling. What we discussed earlier. Would you please?” 

“Are you sure, angel?” 

“You don’t have to, I’d never want to make you uncomfortable—”

“Relax. Just checking.” Crowley begins the slide from one side of Aziraphale’s body to the other. “If it’s something you want and I can give, of course I’ll do it.”

Aziraphale’s heart feels like it’s going to spill over, and he gives Crowley a peck on the snout. “You are so lovely to me, my dear, and I am grateful for it every day.” 

“Stoppit,” Crowley mutters, but Aziraphale knows he’s pleased by the way he curls against his neck, pressed close but not tight (not yet at least).

It’s a gentle pressure to his throat, right against the windpipe, more intimation of possibility than actual restriction. Crowley could squeeze with considerable strength, cut off oxygen and circulation to Aziraphale’s corporation if he wanted, but he won’t. It is intoxicating to the point of dizziness, giving someone that power and trust and expecting them to not hurt you.

Crowley squeezes just a bit more, and Aziraphale can feel his breath hitch. This is what he needs, the euphoria of surrender (also perhaps slight oxygen deprivation) and the narrowing of sensation to where he and Crowley press against each other. 

“I’m close love, please—” he manages.

“Do it, angel. I want to feel you under me, taking what I give you, your body wanting to twist and arch but you can’t, because I’m holding you fast.” 

“Oh— oh _fuck—_ ” 

Crowley tightens all the places he’s wrapped around Aziraphale, and the onslaught of sensation tips Aziraphale over the edge. He’s dimly aware of the the pulse of his spend, the way it dapples Crowley’s dark scales and drips down his sides. If his hands were free he would wipe it away gently, offer it to Crowley to smell and taste. Perhaps another time.

“Should I let you go?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale nods. “Stay close though.” 

Crowley unwinds himself from where he and Aziraphale have been entangled, and Aziraphale stretches, rolling his shoulders and checking for feeling in his hands and fingers. When he’s satisfied as to his corporation’s condition, he looks at Crowley, expecting to see a giant coil of snake. He’s back in human form, laying on his side. 

“Oh hello.” Aziraphale smiles, leaning in for a kiss. Snakes don’t have lips, and that is something not in their favor. 

“Hello what? ‘S not like I left.” Crowley’s grumpiness is performative, Aziraphale knows, because he can feel the curve of a smile against his hand. 

“I’m glad to see your human form, that’s all,” he replies. 

“All right.” Crowley is bemused, but doesn’t pursue the thought further. Aziraphale tugs Crowley down to the bed, wrapping their limbs together. It’s much less elegant this way, but it has its charms.


End file.
